


Love Ceases to be a Pleasure (When It Ceases to be a Secret)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Forbidden Love, French Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Losing, M/M, Making Out, Montreal Canadiens, Secret love, Secrets, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carey is Petr's secret and comfort. Written per reader request. Set after the Red Wings' loss to the Canadiens at Bell Centre this season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Ceases to be a Pleasure (When It Ceases to be a Secret)

“Love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret.”—Aphra Behn

Love Ceases to be a Pleasure (When It Ceases to be a Secret) 

Feeling as adrift as a sailor lost at sea, Petr stared into the heels of his hands, studying the life lines crisscrossing them as he never had before, wondering dispassionately if they foretold that he would soon die of humiliation from being lit up like a smokestack at the Bell Centre. Of course, his hands were probably useless as prophets, just as they had been clumsy and inept when it came to keeping the puck out of the net tonight. 

Every other Red Wing had trickled out of the locker room in groups. None of them had made clever chirps suggesting Petr was a sieve who would be better employed as a colander for spaghetti than as a goaltender in the NHL, and not one of them had shot him blaming glare as if they blamed him for the loss, but that didn’t stop Petr from holding himself responsible and feeling guilty as Adam caught eating the apple in the Garden of Eden when his teammates clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically or made encouraging comments about bouncing back next game as they left the room. 

Petr, muscles cramped from shame rather than exhaustion—because he had been pulled before he could get fatigued—hadn’t been able to bully himself into rising. Probably the poor equipment crew would have to prise him from his stall and carry him to the hotel, because he was too numb to move…

Then the door swung open, and his stiff muscles surged to life as flowing fire replaced the ice frozen in his veins. Carey, whose voice had surpassed heavy metal as his favorite music, had arrived in the locker room, and spoken, reminding Petr that Skype and cell phones could never do justice to the depths of Carey’s tone, “Petr.” 

It was just the sound of his name, but from Carey’s lips it was enough to make Petr’s soul sing in harmony with it. 

“You can’t win them all.” Carey wedged himself into the locker beside Petr and nibbled at the nape of Petr’s neck. 

Mewling at the tantalizing touch of Carey’s teeth on a spot of skin that was still sensitive despite a lifetime of getting hit by pucks, Petr muttered, gazing into the black holes of Carey’s eyes that never failed to seize his gravity, “I should at least not be able to get lit up like a Christmas tree.” 

“You can’t save every goal.” Carey traced Petr’s collarbone and then darted deft fingers beneath the neckline of Petr’s shirt, stroking and squeezing Petr’s nipples into perkiness. 

“I want to be able to save them all,” Petr started, but the rest of his comment was cut off when Carey’s lips captured his mouth. 

As Carey’s tongue nudged at Petr’s lips, entreating entrance to his mouth, Petr regained enough of his senses to protest, faint as a whisper, “Carey, we can’t do this here.” 

“Why not?” Carey’s words were twisted as his tongue took advantage of Petr opening his mouth to speak and slipped between Petr’s lips. 

“Somebody might see.” Petr gasped and grabbed at Carey’s jet hair as Carey’s tongue rubbed the roof of his mouth raw. 

“Nobody’s here but us.” Carey’s tongue scraped at the inside of Petr’s cheeks. 

“Someone might come in.” Petr could only think of lame excuses when Carey, slippery and electric as an eel, was tickling the inside of his mouth like this. 

“If they do, I’ll tell them I’m doing the Heimlich on you.” Carey’s hands began to slide from Petr’s nipples over his abs, traveling steadily south until they reached his waist, where they wrapped around the zipper of Petr’s jeans. 

Before Carey could begin unzipping, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the room. Expecting the appearance of a knot of equipment managers, Petr and Carey sprang apart faster than jackrabbits hopping away from a predator. Unfortunately, Carey’s hands were trapped under Petr’s shirt and remained tangled there as the locker room door opened. 

In the threshold, Jimmy Howard halted as his blueberry eyes drank in the sight of Carey and Petr, linked with Carey’s hands around the fly of Petr’s pants in what could generously be turned a compromising position. Blinking, Jimmy seemed to decide that he had indeed seen the scene correctly on first glance. Flushing to the roots of his sandy hair, Jimmy coughed as if afflicted by a sudden bout of hay fever. “Er, sorry to interrupt. I just realized that I forgot my cell.” 

Ducking into his stall to retrieve his iPhone, Jimmy waved it around as if to provide proof that he wasn't snooping and then hurried back into the corridor, tossing over his shoulder as he shut the door, “I’ll just be going now. See you around, Petr.”

Imaging the lurid texts Jimmy was probably already typing to teammates about the very intimate way Petr was fraternizing with the enemy, Petr, finally free of Carey’s hands, bolted from the locker room, calling after Jimmy, “Wait, Jimmy! You didn’t see what you thought you saw.” 

“I didn’t think I saw anything.” Spinning on his heel to face Petr, Jimmy grinned. “I just was looking for my cell, and, lucky me, I found it.” 

“You mean you aren’t going to tell?” Petr was breathless, whether from hope or from running he didn’t know.

“Of course not.” Jimmy’s smile broadened so that it stretched from ear to ear. “It’s not my secret to tell, but just know that if you did decide to tell, you might not discover that your love was as forbidden as you think.” 

“Really?” Petr couldn’t stop gazing at the older goalie. 

“Yup.” Jimmy nodded, half playful and half serious. “If you want to be truly controversial, you’ll have to make out with a hated enemy who is decades older than you. Patrick Roy, perhaps?” 

“He’s going gray, has too many wrinkles, and looks like a psychopath.” Petr laughed. “I’m going to stick with Carey.” 

And that’s what he did back in the locker room, sticking with Carey, as their tongues knotted together and all he could taste was Carey, and as their hands closed over one another’s dicks, and they spasmed in unison until with a final shuddering jerk they came at the same time, filling each other’s fingers with liquid love.


End file.
